


A Gunboat in a Sea of Fear

by oldmaker



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton Being an Asshole, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Artist John Laurens, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay John Laurens, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, I CAN'T BELIEVE I PREDICTED CORONAVIRUS IN A LAMS FANFIC IN 2016, I can't believe this story survived the shift in dimensions, I wrote this in eighth grade, John Laurens Loves Turtles, John Laurens and his guilt complex, Lams - Freeform, M/M, POV John Laurens, Plague, combination of broadway and historical appearances, herc is the moral center of this story, hercules thinks he's straight, john's siblings - Freeform, lafayette/hercules if you squint, mutations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmaker/pseuds/oldmaker
Summary: After rocketing global temperatures and crippling infectious plague wiped out the coasts of the United States in the early 2080s, John Laurens is finally beginning to adjust to life in his small village of family members and friends.Life is simple. Check the thermometer. Replenish the water supply. Physically hold back Alex from starting any fights. Draw on the walls. Try not to think about Dad. Shovel shit. Rinse. Repeat.Life is simple. Keep the village quarantined. Don't get sick. And pray to God, if one does get sick, they aren't the type of person who mutates.Life was simple. Don't mutate.(This fic was originally posted on Wattpad in 2016 under the title "Yorktown". The new title is taken from Radiohead's "The Bends".)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Hercules Mulligan/Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. one, un, uno

**Author's Note:**

> This fic once existed on Wattpad in mid-2016. I escaped that wormhole mostly unscathed.  
> I haven't thought about Hamilton in a long time, but went snooping for this fic in my google docs today, and my third eye was blown wide open. I was thirteen when I wrote this shit. Thirteen! And I have not written anything good since. I've been frightened of Hamilton ever since I faded out of the fandom upon entering high school, but rereading this fic is almost starting to convert me back to my roots.  
> I decided it was my civic duty to post it to AO3 now that I have an account. And also cuz, you know, coronavirus makes this premise more on the nose than ever.  
> Please enjoy this relic of my past, with a healthy portion of leniency. I was but a pubescent child hardly weaned into the realm of live theatre when I wrote this. I'm different now.

I think Alexander does that thing on purpose. The thing where he wakes up before me and then pretends to snore super loud so that he wakes me up instead. The thing where I hit him and yell in his ear to "shut up" and he innocently rubs his eyes and says in that unfair voice of his, "Morning already?" It used to be charming, but now he does it every day, and I have to admit it's gotten a little old. Still cute, but old.  
  
He does it again today, and I wake up with a start at an excessively loud honk, my face buried in the shirt I use as a pillow and my feet tangled up with his at the bottom of the mattress. I squint in the golden sunbeam streaming in through the window above the bed, blink several times, and try to get my bearings as Alexander continues to snort beside me. I lift myself up a little, wincing at the painful crick in my neck I've received during my slumber, and whack Alexander on the back with my hand.  
  
"You can knock it off now," I grumble, my voice involuntarily scratchy and low at this early hour. I've never been a morning person, and if I didn't know Alexander as well as I do, I wouldn't peg him as one, either. But I don't know if he ever actually sleeps, at least not for more than two hours at a time, so I suppose the morning is just another time of day for him.  
  
Alexander takes in one more big, guttural _shnuunnkk_ and then slowly rolls over to his back, pretending to rub the crud out of his eyes. "Morning already?" he groans, but I can see his smile, and his voice is light and teasing.  
  
"You know it," I mumble back to him, stifling a yawn in my hand and trying to detach myself from him. It's quite humid today, especially in this stuffy three-room house, and with his hot body lying in the cot next to me. "Stop trying to snuggle, Alex, it's hot and I'm grumpy and you've probably got morning breath."  
  
"Yeah, and _I'm_ in the room. No snuggling," comes a deep, muffled voice from the other side of the room. I sit up on the bed and turn my head to see Hercules lying alone in the second mattress. His eyes are closed and his limbs are flopped all over the place, and if he hadn't spoken, I would have assumed he was still out cold.  
  
"You suck the fun out of everything," Alexander whines. I don't reply to that, but I have to agree -- Hercules is definitely not fond of our frequent displays of affection. I think it's because he's used to us being his childhood friends, and he's not ready to settle the idea of two of his college friends maybe-kinda-possibly falling in love.  
  
"Where's Lafayette?" I ask Hercules, referring to the empty spot in the bed next to him, and dropping off the mattress onto the floor. It's not much of a drop, considering the mattress is lying on the floor to begin with. I dig through my bag of clothes to find a shirt, although considering the fact I've already broken a sweat, I'm thinking I won't be wearing a shirt at all today. "Did he go out to the well with Peggy already?"  
  
"I don't know, man," Hercules moans, wiping his brow with the back of his hand and propping himself up on one elbow. "I don't care. Yeah, he probably went out to get water. How does he wake up so early? He just thinks he's better than any of us."  
  
"He is better than any of us," I admit, rolling my head around; the crick in my neck makes me wince when I tilt my chin up too far. Lafayette, a French immigrant, the most responsible out of all of us, and by far the most honorable. I mean, hell yes he's an annoying bastard sometimes, but that's because he's French. He kisses everyone on the cheek when he sees them and gives flowers to people for no reason. It's hard not to love him, especially when he can be so optimistic in a situation like ours. "But you're right, he doesn't need to brag."  
  
" _Shit_ , it's hot," Alexander moans from behind me. "It's gotta be, like, 107."  
  
"I can go check," I offer, tossing my shirt back into the bag. I have decided it is too warm for a shirt today. One of the warmest days we've had. I haven't been living in the Philadelphia area for long, but I have to wonder if this is the norm. I turn back to Alexander, who is lying on the mattress wearing only his socks and his sweatpants pulled up all the way up to his chest -- I have to question his life choices sometimes -- and give him a small jab in the leg with the tip of my boot.  
  
"Ow!" he exclaims, yanking his legs away from me and sitting up. He sees my feet and his eyes widen. "Ew, you wore your boots in bed?"  
  
"Get up," I ignore him, turning to Hercules, who has fallen back into a lounging position, with his shirt-doubling-as-pillow draped over his face. I nudge him a few times, but the gargantuan human refuses to move. I finally try to scoop my arms under his dark form and flip him over, but -- _oof_ \-- I am small and he is large, and all I receive for my efforts is a playful slap on the face from his once-limp hand.  
  
"Go away, Jackie, nobody likes you."  
  
I roll my eyes at the two lazy bums in my room and straighten myself up, cradling my stinging cheek. I don't like it when they call me Jackie. I'd rather just be called John, but we all have nicknames to use when we get on each other's nerves. Alexander is Ham-Boy, Hercules is Herky, and we call Lafayette by his first name, Gilbert. At first they tried to call me Jack, but they learned not to do that the hard way. My family called me Jack, and my family only. And since my family is no longer with us, my name is no longer Jack.  
  
The second out of the three rooms in the house is the one I exit my bedroom to enter; the only room used for anything but sleeping: the kitchen. It's a small kitchen, with a refrigerator that doesn't work anymore and has been converted into a fancy storage closet instead and three cabinets stuffed with some of our provisions, the rest of which are in our cellar. There's a table with three chairs in this room too; which is stupid, because there are seven of us sharing the house; the four of us, plus Michel and Anastasie, Lafayette's younger siblings, and Sarah, Hercules' mother, the three of whom sleep in the other bedroom. I can't decide if the table is there for actual use, decoration, or just in case we run out of kindling. I go to the cupboard and open it, grabbing two pieces of beef jerky out of a Ziploc bag for my breakfast, and hurriedly rip them apart with my teeth. They could definitely do for some seasoning, but it's not a big deal. I try to keep my complaints to a bare minimum.  
  
I unlock the numerous locks, bars, and chains on the front door and step outside into the sweltering heat, thrusting my hand into my jeans pocket to be sure I have my key before shutting the door again. One of the locks re-locks automatically, and Alexander and I have gotten locked out of the house without keys numerous times -- Hercules and Lafayette are much less reckless about keeping their belongings about them. The single lock is usually the only one we need during the day, but at night we gotta be careful, because we don't know who, or what, could be prowling around. During the day at least we can see them.  
  
There's a thermometer mounted on the outside wall beside the door. It was one of the possessions we were lucky to have with us when we evacuated the coastal cities. This is the only thermometer in the village, and everyone refers to it daily because it is absolutely crucial. We have to be careful, because the plague spreads 1.1 times as fast for every degree Fahrenheit it is above 95.  
  
It's 98. The plague has the ability to spread 3.3 times as fast as normal today, so that means that one infected person could hypothetically spread it to around twelve people in a day. There isn't much we can do about that except be extra cautious, since nobody in the village has the plague and the nearest neighboring village is over 15 miles away, and thankfully the plague can't spread through wild animals. Only humans. So we're going to have to purify that water Lafayette brings back several times just to be careful. I don't know if our river is upstream or downstream from the nearest plague case, but it's much better to be safe than sorry.  
  
"Good morning, John!" The voice is much too sweet and cheery for a time like this, especially this early in the day. I squint up at the early sun, which is barely breaking its last tethers to the horizon.  
  
"Good morning, Eliza," I say before turning around, but when I do face her, I find I am correct in my assumption. She wears her normal cotton-blue tee and cut-off denim overalls, and her blackish-brown hair is done back in the braids she almost always wears. She's smiling, like always, and her almond-shaped brown eyes sparkle with a generous radiance I know I'll never possess.  
  
"Sleep well?" She asks politely. She's too polite. It's not fair. She's like Lafayette that way; innocent and selfless and benevolent, but unlike Lafayette, she's never annoying.  
  
"As well as I could with Alexander draped all over me," I scoff, and she blushes. I quickly remember she's too innocent for me to use words like that. "I didn't mean, well, you know, we just share a bed, we don't have anything... He's just, a bed-hog," I said, frantically trying to cover up my awkwardness, the tips of my ears burning red.  
  
Her grin widens, however, and her eyes flit down to the ground bashfully. "Is Alexander awake yet?"  
  
Eliza Schuyler may not readily admit it, but she has this huge crush on Alexander. Our mutual feelings have given Eliza and me a pretty strong friendship.  
  
"Yeah. He's been pretending to be asleep, as always. Why don't you go rap on our window and say hello? That ought to get him up."  
  
"I'll do that," Eliza says brightly, tucking her thumbs behind the straps of her overalls. Her eyes dart from me to the thermometer. "What's today's temp?"  
  
"Ninety-eight," I say. Eliza winces at the number.  
  
"Ick. And it'll only get hotter," she remarks, scuffing the dry dirt with her boot.  
  
"Yeah," I agree. "Sorry, I have to go catch Lafayette. He's getting us water, and I'm assuming he went with Peggy again...?"  
  
"He did," said Eliza. "They left about twenty minutes ago. I'm sure you'll catch them on their way down."  
  
"Okay, thanks," I say, flashing her a smile, and I begin heading across the dirt path. "Have fun 'waking up' Alex." She giggles and skips off to the side of my house.  
  
Our house is one of about ten in the village, a ramshackle pile of driftwood with about a bazillion extra nails jammed into it to create the illusion of sturdiness. Besides the Lafayette-Mulligan-Hamilton-Laurens conglomerate that is my humble abode, our village also hosts some families such as the Schuylers, the Washingtons, the Burrs, the Jefferson-Madisons, and various other patchworks of people. All of the different households have different jobs. The Burrs, Aaron and Theodosia, do most of the metalworking, such as for keys, locks, tools and also carpentry. I know Aaron hates it something awful -- he'd much rather be back in debate club with Alexander and Samuel Seabury like the good ol' college days -- but he's agreeable, and Theodosia's actually the most amazing carpenter I've ever met.

The Schuylers do a lot of the cooking. Well, Eliza cooks. Peggy hunts. Angelica guts and skins the animals, and refuses to let anything go to waste. The Washingtons do a heck of a lot of gardening, and have a couple households working for them, as well. I think Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, who live together but may or may not be gay (James follows Thomas around like a shadow and Thomas' wardrobe is composed entirely of fuchsia), work on the Washington "farm", but Thomas often goes into town to trade, as well.

As for our household, Sarah, Hercules, and the younger kids do a lot of sewing and weaving. We have sheep in a barn out back, like several homes here, and their wool always comes to us so that we can make clothing, blankets, and whatnot. Lafayette, Alexander, and I do a lot of work tending to the animals in other people's barns, and sometimes we hunt with Peggy. Alexander is also in charge of the "bank" of the village, handling the trade and making sure every transaction is fair.  
  
I miss society. Society was a lot easier to live in, but after Britain released the plague on us, most of our futures went dripping down the proverbial drain. Now I'm confined to standing knee-deep in animal shit every day and praying I don't wake up with the plague or a mutation in the morning -- mornings where a hot boy named Alexander wakes me up with fake snores.  
  
After you pass the most secluded house in the village, the Lee house, you come to a dense evergreen forest. We've worn down a path through it from frequent travel, and if you follow it all the way through, you come to the river where the village receives its water supply. This is the path I am stepping on now to retrieve my friends Lafayette and Peggy. Lafayette heads out with Eliza's fiery younger sister everyday because it's dangerous to walk about in the woods alone. There are things that live there. Big things. Big things that shouldn't exist.  
  
That's the thing about the plague. It doesn't kill everyone it catches. Sometimes people receive no symptoms of illness; they just mutate. Extra fingers. Two pupils in one eye. The ability to sense things no one else can, like ultraviolet light, or hearing somebody's heart pumping from ten feet away. These cases are rare, but the plague still manages to do that to some unfortunate souls. And even if humans can't catch the plague from animals, animals can catch the plague from humans. And they _always_ mutate.  
  
The one good thing about the mutations, however, is that they aren't contagious. Only people who get sick with the actual illness can pass it on. So if you meet a mutant, the only way it'll get you killed is if you let it.  
  
Most mutants, human and animal alike, want to kill you, so that's why I carry a gun in my belt and I don't take chances.  
  
Okay, okay: I don't take chances, but I'm walking around in a possibly lethal forest half-dressed and completely alone.  
  
After scaling a large hill and following the gentle curve of the path, I finally see them: Gilbert Lafayette and Peggy Schuyler, one tall, gorgeous man, and one small, muscular woman, who are each hauling water yokes over their shoulders. Both of them are quite slim, but Jesus Christ, that water is heavy, and you would not believe the muscle bulk those two have beneath their skin. I think Peggy could carry Hercules around on her back all day if she really wanted to -- and if Hercules would let her. Which he wouldn't.  
  
Their faces brighten up when they see me, and I jog up to them. Lafayette's frizzy black hair is pulled back in a bun and his coffee-colored face is dripping with sweat. Like me, he also had the common sense not to wear a shirt today, and perspiration drips off his collarbone like a waterfall. Peggy, believe it or not, is in better shape than Lafayette, as usual. Her wavy dark brown hair is in a high ponytail that clings to her damp neck. She also is drenched in sweat, but she manages to look much more poised about it than my French friend. Her tank top might have been white at one point, but now it's a dull gray-brown.  
  
" _Mon_ _ami_ , Jackie," Lafayette gasps, grinning and showing off his perfectly straight, pearly-white teeth. Okay. I don't like the name Jackie, but I love it when Lafayette says it. It sounds like "shocky".  
  
"It's too hot for this," I remark, glancing back and forth between their weary faces. "Y'all are gonna pass out. Can I help?"  
  
I offer my open hands to Peggy, but she shoots acid at my face with the look she gives me so I offer to Lafayette instead. He shakes his head, no, also.  
  
I groan. "At least take a break, then. Sit down and catch your breath."  
  
Lafayette and Peggy grudgingly obey, lowering their yokes to the ground and collapsing into the dirt with exhausted sighs. Peggy rolls her shoulders and winces; Lafayette flops onto his back and closes his eyes and seems to fall asleep except for the tap-tap-tapping of his fingers in the dirt.  
  
This is one of the faults my friends and I share. We aren't quitters, even when it kills us. We don't know how to say no. Taking breaks isn't really our style.  
  
"It was 91 degrees out when we left earlier," Lafayette works out of his mouth between pants. His eyelids flutter open and I can see the glassy reflection of the evergreens in his dark eyes.  
  
"It was 98 when I checked five or so minutes ago," I inform them. Peggy swears and looks up to the sky, swats a bug that landed on her arm, and furrows her clever eyebrows in frustration at the universe.  
  
"It's spreading 3.3 times faster," Lafayette mutters, referring grimly to the epidemic. He glances towards the water. "I guess it's a bad idea to drink this before boiling it, then."  
  
"You didn't drink it already, did you?" I exclaim.  
  
"No," Peggy shakes her head. "But he wanted to."  
  
Lafayette frowns. "So did you."  
  
"I still want to," Peggy admits. "Would you rather die of a plague, or die of dehydration?"  
  
"Um... Probably dehydration," I say, an eyebrow raised.  
  
Peggy flops to her side. "I'm going to start drinking my sweat. Ugh. Tomorrow you and Alexander should get the water, John."  
  
"How about Charles and Samuel?" Lafayette suggests. "Lord knows they don't do shit around here anyway."  
  
We all giggle at that. It's true. We're all supposed to pull our own weight around here, but usually the lightweights end up having to pull the heavyweights for them.  
  
"Just send one at a time," says Peggy. "That way they'll get eaten." She pauses. "Speaking of traveling alone, John, you shouldn't do that."  
  
"I had my gun," I shoot back defensively.  
  
"Doesn't matter. You could've brought someone with you," Peggy argues.  
  
"Hey, I'm here, aren't I?" I shrug. "C'mon up, I'll help you with the water."  
  
Peggy and Lafayette haul themselves back to their feet. Lafayette is definitely more tired than Peggy, so I grab his yoke and grunt as I raise it over my shoulders. I don't have strong neck and back muscles like he does, and I feel my knees wobble under the strain. But Lafayette is already tired, so I'm willing to carry it for a while.  
  
We trudge back to the village mainly in silence, letting the twittering birds and gentle rustle of leaves do the talking. It's too hot to converse, and I can feel the yoke cutting into my flesh painfully. Peggy eventually passes her yoke to Lafayette. After that, I pass my yoke to Peggy, and we continue to cycle through. By the time we get back to the village, I have a new-found appreciation for Peggy and Lafayette's daily morning toils.  
  
Peggy and Lafayette head to the Schuyler's house, where they will purify the water, and I return to my house, back aching and head spinning. I pull my key out of my pocket and weakly fumble it into the lock, twisting the door open and practically falling into the room. I sink down at the kitchen table, and for once I'm grateful we have one. I rest my head on my arms and stare at the broken fridge vacantly. It's _so hot._ _  
_  
"John, what are you doing?" I lift my head up and see Anastasie entering the room, her short black hair frizzed around her head like a halo. She's six years younger than Lafayette -- 15 -- but she looks a lot like him. They have the same eyes and the same cheekbones, but she's considerably darker skinned. Michel, who is 18, looks much different than Lafayette, but they have the same skin tone and, if you don't know who is speaking, they sound exactly the same.  
  
"I helped Peggy and Lafayette with the water, because it's so hot today," I say. "It's 98."  
  
Anastasie curses in French and shakes her head. "Well, drink some of the water we already have. Stay hydrated, and maybe you boys should stay inside today instead of work."  
  
"That's what I was thinking," I agree. I stand up and walk to the cupboard, pulling out one of the canteens we have with water from other days. I take a big swig and wipe the dribble off my chin. "I'll go get Alexander and Hercules. Are they in our barn?"  
  
" _Oui_ ," says Anastasie. She heads toward the door. "I'm going to be with Angelica if you need me. She's going to teach me how to skin an animal today."  
  
"Good for you."  
  
I start down the dirt path that leads around our cabin and follow it past a line of maple trees, coming upon our worn-down once-red-but-now-sepia barn. We're one of the three families with an actual barn for their animals; everyone else had to build their own makeshift shack. I unlock the door and push my way inside, overpowered by the delicious scent of sheep turds and animal sweat and the various baas and maas. My boots sink into the squishy muck of feces, straw, and dirt of the floor of the barn.  
  
The sheep are in their pens on either side of the room. Hercules has taken his shirt off and tucked it into the side of his pants and is shoveling shit into a wheelbarrow, grumbling to himself about something. He's probably grumbling about Alexander, who is doing nothing productive. He's pulled his shirt over his head like a hijab and is cooing and petting the sheep. He looks up, startled, when I enter.  
  
"Hey," he says.  
  
I shake my head at his foolishness and share a glance with Hercules, who lets go of the shovel long enough to make a finger gun and point it at the side of his head, pretending to shoot himself.  
  
"Ham-Boy, are you being helpful?" I ask Alexander scornfully, stepping closer to him to give his short, dark ponytail a playful flip. He moves away from me and pretends to be offended, but his wide brown eyes twinkle flirtatiously. Sweet Jesus, those eyes. They almost make me forget the heat and the plague.  
  
"Were you helping Lafayette and Peggy with the water?" Hercules asks, driving his wheelbarrow past me towards the door. I nod. "Took a while, even with the three of you doing it."  
  
"Maybe you should start doing water duty," I respond sourly.  
  
Hercules laughs. " _Anything's_ got to be better than this." He gestures to the mound of manure in his wheelbarrow and sighs. "I'm bringing this up to the Washington farm."  
  
"Come home when you're done," I say to him. "And start letting people know today's temp. Tell them to stay inside." I turn back to Alexander. "That's what we're going to do today. Stay inside. It's too hot and dangerous to be working. It will waste a lot of water and expose us too heavily to the plague."

"True that," says Alexander. He gives a sheep a loving pat on the rump and exits the pen, locking the gate behind him. We hold the door open for Hercules, who rolls past us still grumbling. (Does he ever stop grumbling? Hercules Mulligan -- more like Hercules Grumble-Again.) Alexander and I follow him down the path. Alexander and I stop at our washtub, where we wash our arms in the water (which is rapidly becoming an orange-brown) and splash each other's faces, giggling like the 18-year-old idiots we used to be. Then we head back to the front of the house and step inside. Upon doing so, we slip off our shit-stained boots (to be washed later) and head back to our bedroom.  
  
"God, I'm hot," Alexander says, swaying the bedroom door open and shut in an attempt to create some airflow. "Wait, John, are you stripping down to your socks?"  
  
"Yep," I say, yanking off my sheep-feces jeans. Usually we don't do dirty laundry until the end of the day, but it's so hot, and we aren't planning on doing any more work today anyway. I toss the soiled denim at Alexander and he flinches, scurrying away.  
  
"Ew, John, get your poopy pants away from me."  
  
"Your pants are poopy too!" I point out, gesturing at his own dirty jeans. "And Lafayette would have an absolute fit if he knew you were standing on his bed with them on."  
  
Alexander looks down and notices he's stepping all over Hercules and Lafayette's perfectly made mattress. He looks embarrassed and steps off, glancing up at me sheepishly. "Oops." He slips off his pants and tosses them into the pile with my own, along with his shirt. "Well, what are we going to do all day now?"  
  
"That's a good question," I observe. I sit down on our bed and flop onto my back with a heavy sigh. "Having no clothes on almost makes the heat bearable."  
  
"You're still wearing your socks and your underwear, you're not nude," Alexander declares.  
  
"I never said I was nude," I comment bitterly. "Besides, Lafayette and Hercules don't want to walk in on us naked."  
  
Lafayette opens the door, blinks, and closes the door. He then reopens the door and clears his throat.  
  
"Am I interrupting anything?" He asks diffidently, and I see Hercules peeking over his tall shoulder with a remarkably irked expression.  
  
"Nope," Alexander says with a smile.  
  
"No, we're just lounging around without clothes on," I say, grinning at our two friends' vexation. "Totally platonic, actually. Would you care to join us?"  
  
"You know, some of us are actually straight," Hercules grunts. Lafayette flushes.  
  
I sit up and cross my legs, scooting myself back on the mattress so I'm leaning against the wall, and Alex joins me on the bed. Lafayette and Hercules squeeze into the claustrophobic room. Lafayette and Alexander share a smirk and Lafayette slips his pants off, kicking them into the same pile as ours.  
  
"Gilbert, what the-" Hercules raises an eyebrow.  
  
"Hey, they're not wrong, Herky," says Lafayette, plopping down on his mattress. "It's a lot cooler now."  
  
It isn't long before all the men in the household have resorted to walking around in their socks and underwear and Anastasie and Sarah have decided to spend the day with the Burrs.


	2. two, deux, dos

_October 28th, 2080_ _  
_ _  
_ _"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOHNNY BOY!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _I yelp in surprise when the scream erupts in my ears and a body tackles me from behind. I stumble forward and slam into the wall with my shoulder, taking my attacker down with me._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Ow! Alex, what the hell," I groan, pushing him off me. He grins and brushes his shoulder-length black hair away from his face, then jumps forward and gives me a kiss._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Haha. Old man," he teases, squeezing me in a big hug. I can feel the heat rise to my face as his hair tickles my cheeks._ _  
_ _  
_ _"You're going to be 22 in three months, too," I roll my eyes at Alexander, my hands on his shoulders pushing him away. We're the exact same height, and I'm staring directly into his big brown eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _"_ Bonjour _, Jackie," Lafayette says, grinning as he walks into the mess hall and sees us standing by the doorway. "Happy 22nd,_ mon ami _."_ _  
_ _  
_ _Lafayette just turned 20 in September. He's two years younger than us, but at least five inches taller. And much more decorated than we are. His uniform's got much more bells and tassels on it than Alexander and I, and Alexander and I have a lot. We ourselves are favorites of General Washington, but Lafayette is just one genetic relation short of his son. Sure, we'd be considered "surrogate sons", but Lafayette's the only one allowed to hug him._ _  
_ _  
_ _"That's Lieutenant-Colonel Jackie to you," I respond, deepening my voice as if to be authoritative. Alexander laughs and tousles my hair._ _  
_ _  
_ _"You're even cuter than you were last year! I like you at 22."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Alexander, that didn't even make sense," I say, furrowing my brow. "Where's Hercules?"_ _  
_ _  
_ _Alexander shrugs and grabs a tray from the cart. "Who knows? Let's eat, I'm starving."_ _  
_ _  
_ _Lafayette and I grab trays and get in the food line behind Alex. I serve myself salad and fruit from beneath the sneeze guard, and then order chicken tenders with fries and ask for a Coke._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Is Pepsi okay?" asks Mr. Paine, the cafeteria worker assisting me._ _  
_ _  
_ _I raise my eyebrow. "Sure, in that case make it a diet. But we've always had Coke here."_ _  
_ _  
_ _Paine shrugs and hands me a Diet Pepsi can. "As of today, we only serve Pepsi, I guess." He glances around and leans towards me like he's telling me a secret. "Apparently, the whole country's cut off the entire Coca-Cola supply. Turns out Britain tainted the stuff with the plague."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"But I thought the idea that the plague was engineered by the British was a myth," I say, staring at Paine in confusion._ _  
_ _  
_ _Paine shrugs again. "If you don't believe me, fine. Drink yourself a Coke. But don't come crying back to me when you're thin as a rail and ghastly yellow and bleeding through your gums. Or worse... When you've sprouted wings and fangs and can read people's minds."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Take a hike," says Lafayette with a flourishing eye roll, apparently having eavesdropped on the entire conversation. "Everyone knows the mutations are just a myth too."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Tell that to my cousin Sam," Mr. Adams butts in, another cafeteria worker. "He was taking care of my aunt, who had the plague, and a few days after she died, he had grown three stretchable chameleon tongues. And he used them to strangle and devour my uncle."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"I don't think we're talking about the same kind of coke here," Alexander whispers in my ear, and I snicker._ _  
_ _  
_ _We sit down with our food at our usual table. We eat in silence for a minute until Hercules joins us, pretending to be furious that we started without him, and then explaining that he was late because Washington wanted him to mend a tear in his sleeve. We talk about war tactics and battle plans for a minute, then make fun of Seabury after he trips and sends his special gluten-free lunch flying all over the cafeteria, then make fun of Burr for defending him, and then the boys tease me about my birthday._ _  
_ _  
_ _"So what do you want for your 22nd birthday, John?" Lafayette asks._ _  
_ _  
_ _"What he wants every year," Alexander smirks._ _  
_ _  
_ _"And what is that?" Hercules asks. Alexander is giggling uncontrollably behind his hand and I sigh in exasperation. Hercules leans back in his chair. "If it's something intimate between you two, I don't want to hear it."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Aw, Herky, don't be so prudish," Lafayette laughs, giving our large friend a playful shove on the shoulder. Hercules looks uncomfortable, but Lafayette's tone is gentle. "I think I know what it is. It's not nearly as dirty as you think, mon ami."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"John wants a turtle!" Alexander practically yells, and I swear half the cafeteria turns around to see what the commotion is. I sink into my chair, ears burning._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Yeah, so?" I spit out, folding my arms and glaring at Alexander._ _  
_ _  
_ _"A turtle," Hercules repeats. He looks completely and utterly confused. "I fail to see the humor in this situation."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"John has a turtle fetish," Lafayette whispers._ _  
_ _  
_ _"It's not a fetish," I press, frowning at my French friend. "I like turtles. Big deal."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"It's funny," Alexander insists, leaning his head on my shoulder. I roll my eyes but he still gets a smile out of me. "I love you, Jackie. And here's a token to remind you of my love."_ _  
_ _  
_ _He hands me a small cardboard box with tiny holes in it that he somehow managed to keep hidden this whole time. I take it in my hands, feeling its gentle weight. I give Alexander a questioning glance and then set the box down on the table next to my empty tray, opening the lid._ _  
_ _  
_ _It's a turtle. Its shell is a dark brownish-green with raised ridges and the head and feet are lime green with thin, vertical dark green stripes. Its sharp little beak opens and snaps pathetically in the air at the sudden light, and its head shrinks back into its shell._ _  
_ _  
_ _"My god, Alex, it's adorable," I coo, my voice raised about five notches. Lafayette and Hercules lean forward to get a better look._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Man, if I knew turtles were this cute, I'd be obsessed with them too," Hercules remarks with a big grin._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Damn, Alexander, how did you find such a remarkable specimen?" Lafayette inquires, scooting the box into the light to see it better._ _  
_ _  
_ _"They didn't sell any turtles at the pet store," Alexander says. "But I found this one in a riverbed a day or two ago. I would've let it be, but the timing was too perfect. You can let it go if you want, John, but at least now you've had a turtle for a little bit."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"It's perfect, Alexander. I probably will let it go, but this is really sweet of you." I'm practically swooning as I grin at him._ _  
_ _  
_ _Alexander's eyes twinkle as he leans in to whisper in my ear. "His name is Philip, by the way."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"I frikkin' love that name," I mutter happily, and give Alexander a quick kiss on the cheek._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Wait," says Lafayette, leaning in closer to see Philip. "Is he supposed to have fangs?"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Fangs?" We all turn in surprise at the same time. Everyone's heads lean in at once, but I snatch the box away and peer down at Philip closely._ _  
_ _  
_ _Turtles do not have fangs. Or compound eyes. But it appears that Philip has both._ _  
_ _  
_ _I set the box down on the table and snap out of my seat, jerking my hands away from the creature._ _  
_ _  
_ _"John, what's wrong?" Hercules asks._ _  
_ _  
_ _"It's adorable, Alexander," I say, gulping. "And it's a mutant."_ _  
_ _  
_   
\----   
  
  
Lafayette and I are having another thumb war. It's about noon right now, and the temperature thankfully hasn't risen. We were all worried the sun would really heat things up during the day and melt us all, but some clouds came out from the southwest and covered up the sky. Now the atmosphere is gray and overcast, but the heat makes it feel like we're in a dark microwave. We're hoping for rain.   
  
I stare at our hands in concentration. Lafayette is focusing so hard his tongue is poking out of his tightly-pressed lips. I jerk my thumb away from his when he tries to grab me and pull it back as far as it can go to try and discourage him from snatching at it, but his thumbs are longer than mine and he manages to yank it down and pin it beneath his anyway. I try desperately to get my thumb away, but it's almost like a boulder landed on my hand, and I can't move.   
  
I glare at Lafayette and he gives me a sideways smirk with a raised eyebrow. "Give up yet?"   
  
"No." My frown morphs into an expression of pain. "But no more matches today, please. I can't feel my thumb."   
  
"Oh, sorry." Lafayette releases me and I cradle my injured appendage, trying to massage the blood back into my thumbnail. "Alexander? How about you?"   
  
Alexander scoffs from where he sits on our mattress, doodling on the wall with a pen. "Ha. Yeah. No thanks. Lafayette, you're like a sculpted god and then I'm over here, like, tiny. No thumb wars for me."   
  
"John is smaller than you," Lafayette points out.   
  
"He's shorter, by a hair, but still stronger," Alexander shrugs.   
  
"Yeah, well, you're the smart one," I remark, scooting over next to Alexander and looking at his drawings on the wall. They're mostly just stick figures and chicken scratch. To be honest I can't really tell what's going on.   
  
"I'm not half the artist that you are," Alexander admits to me somewhat sheepishly, his ears flushing a little. He can tell I'm mentally criticizing and cringing at his work.   
  
"Then stop wasting our pens," Lafayette mutters in annoyance from behind us.   
  
"Here, you draw," says Alexander, and he tosses me the pen. I catch it in the air and twirl it in my fingers. I click it open and shut a few times, staring at the blank wall and trying to get my imagination up and running again. I don't use it too often out here trying to survive in the middle of nowhere, you know. Finally, I get an idea and grin, putting the pen to the wall.   
  
"What are you drawing?" Lafayette asks, and I can feel him at my back trying to see what I'm creating. I cup the picture with my other hand so he can't see. Alexander gives me a strange glance and I smirk at him, wiggling my eyebrows. Lafayette huffs. "You'd better show me."   
  
When I finish, I lean back and let Lafayette look. He laughs happily and claps his hands.   
  
"I'm flattered, Jackie! Quite beautiful."

I'm sure he's flattered not because I drew him as a baguette named "Loafayette", but rather that I drew him before I drew anybody else. Alexander also laughs and looks closer at the drawing.  
  
"You certainly got his eyes right."   
  
"It's a gift." I glance down at the pen in my hand and grin. "We should draw on the walls more often."   
  
Alexander leans in closer to me and I find myself sinking into the depths of his intelligent brown eyes. "It's a date."   
  
Hercules barges into the room. "Guys, I have something to-"   
  
"God _damn_ it, Mulligan, you ruined our moment!" Alexander cries out, flopping back on the mattress. I turn my head and glare up at Hercules with fake anger. His already wide eyes widen even more, if that's possible.   
  
"Whoa, were you two kissing?" Hercules takes a half-step backwards.   
  
"First of all, that's nothing new," says Alexander, heavily disgruntled.   
  
"And second of all, you romped in right in time to interrupt it before it happened," I add, also annoyed.   
  
Hercules looks slightly offended. "Oh, of course. _I_ would interrupt your guys' heavy make-out session, but not _him_ ." He jerks a thumb at Lafayette, who is sitting on his mattress with a smile, pleasantly observing.   
  
"He's French. He doesn't count," I justify.   
  
"We can't all be French," Lafayette says helpfully.   
  
"Shut up. I have important news." Hercules glances between us. "Thomas Jefferson's coming home."   
  
There's a beat.   
  
"And this concerns us... Why?" Alexander asks.   
  
"I didn't even realize he had left," I admit.   
  
"Well, he's coming back from the northeastern villages. He might have news about the plague. And he's brought more supplies down this time," Hercules explains.   
  
Alexander groans. "Not like he's going to give anything to me."   
  
"Well, maybe you should be nicer to him, and then he wouldn't skimp on your rations," Lafayette provides haughtily.   
  
"Nicer to Jefferfart?" Alexander makes a face. "Psht. I'd rather sleep with Aaron Burr."   
  
We all wince at that.   
  
"Yo, _imbéciles_ ," calls a voice from outside the door, and when Hercules moves to the side we can see Michel standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. "Monsieur Jefferson has arrived."   
  
Hercules offers out a hand and pulls Lafayette up to his equally-towering height. I push myself to my feet and curse my genes for the bajillionth time as my forehead barely comes up to Lafayette's nose. Alexander is still lying on the bed and when I motion for him to get up, he waves me away.   
  
"I'll saunter out eventually," he says halfheartedly. (Okay, did he _actually_ just use the word "saunter" in the first person?) He looks us up and down and blinks. "Might want to put on some pants before you go out in public."   
  
"Oh, right."   
  
Quickly, we pull on our shorts and file out of the house. The majority of the village is gathering in the center square, which is really more of a dirt clearing in the middle of the neighborhood. I immediately pick out Angelica in her homemade dress, surrounded by her sisters, and the tall, dark Aaron Burr, who is hovering silently near the edge of the crowd, his wife Theodosia having migrated inward to mingle with Martha Washington. George Washington's shiny bald head pokes out from behind the haunch of the chestnut horse that everybody is gathered around. Atop that horse sits a tall man in a magenta tank top with a bright orange ponytail trailing down his back.   
  
"Monsieur Jefferson! Welcome home!" Lafayette calls with a laugh as we join the fray. Thomas looks over and grins at Lafayette, giving him a playful salute, and then gives Hercules a nod and me an absolute look of contempt. I don't understand how Lafayette and Hercules manage to be friendly with Thomas -- Alexander and I have really got it in with him. He's too conceited, arrogant, and prideful for his own good.   
  
"Hey, Freckles," Thomas calls my way, a cruel smirk on his face. "Where's the beau?"   
  
"Naked in bed," I respond, curt but honest, my voice cold at the name he's called me. "Where's Jim?"   
  
Thomas' expression darkens. " _Sick_ in bed. Again. So leave him alone."   
  
"Hypocrite. It's not like _he'll_ leave him alone," Lafayette whispers to me with a knowing smile, and I nod.   
  
"No kidding." We all have our theories about James and Thomas. It's true that James almost always seems to be in the midst of a cold or an allergy attack, but nobody knows how the two truly feel about each other. Whether it's brotherly or more like me and Alex, nobody doubts that Thomas Jefferson feels quite fond of James Madison. That's one of the reasons Alexander and I don't like him much. He acts all homophobic and disdainful about us, but then he turns around and is all buddy-buddy with James. Everything about Thomas Jefferson is a prime example of hypocrisy at its finest.

"What's up, Jefferson?" asks Samuel Seabury, the golden-haired, pale-skinned, pestiferous mosquito of a human being who insists on calling everybody by their last names. Aaron, Alexander, and I went to college with him -- we destroyed him in debate class every single time. "Do you have news of the plague?"  
  
"Indeed I do," Thomas says with a flip of his hair. He mops his brow with the back of his wrist and surveys the ring of eager, sweaty faces around him. "It's pyretic out here. I won't keep you waiting."   
  
_Pyretic_ . I want to waltz right up there and yank on his 'fro so hard it pulls out his arm hair. The bigger the vocabulary, the bigger the asshole. I think of Alexander with his dictionary brain. I rest my case.   
  
"The village I was visiting had no sign of any plague cases," Thomas begins, receiving a sigh of relief from the entire crowd. "However, they recently received word that the villages north of them have been almost completely wiped out, with the exception of two mutants who have gone missing. Only three people survived the epidemic in the nearest neighboring village. Those people came to live in the village I was visiting. They told me that the plague has been traveling southwest twice as quickly as normal." He glances around grimly. "That's without the heat index. Apparently, at the temperature of 98, it's traveling about six times as easily as normal. Not three."   
  
As the exclamations run wild through the group, I hear a crunch in the dirt behind me and turn to see Alexander, indeed sauntering up to the action as he finishes buttoning his shorts, his blue "treasury" notebook tucked under one elbow.   
  
"So, what'd I miss?" he asks.   
  
"Thomas Jefferson is a pompous ass and we're all going to die," I summarize.   
  
"Ah, wonderful. What else is new?"   
  
Thomas, meanwhile, waves his hands around in dismissal, trying to silence the protests and words of alarm spreading over our small community. "Guys, guys, we don't have to worry right now. The plague still hasn't reached us, and it's unlikely that it will anytime soon. If it follows the same pattern it has been of lately, it should take out the village to the northeast of us before it comes here. In that case, we can start making preparations to move out and head down south."   
  
"Oh, sure," Alexander spits loudly, drawing attention to our slice of the circle. Thomas raises his eyebrows at Alexander's sudden appearance, then glares. Alexander stares him down and continues. "You're fine with heading back south because you're from Virginia anyway. You probably think you can get your plantation up and running again, don't you? Maybe some of us don't want to head down there. There's just as many plague cases in the slave nation anyhow."   
  
"Hey, _I'm_ from Virginia, so watch your mouth," Washington warns.   
  
"There actually are very few plague cases down south," Thomas says with a falsely-sweet smile. "And besides, nobody said you have to come with us. For all I care, you can head up to Canada."   
  
"All the mutants live in Canada," Charles Lee, the neighborhood dimwit, calls out.   
  
"Thank you," Thomas sighs, face-palming. "That's very helpful."   
  
"Enough with the neighborly rivalries," Angelica sighs, rolling her eyes so hard it probably hurt. "Some of us would like to know what our rations include this week."   
  
"I came back with more guns, for one thing," Thomas says brightly, referring to the medium-sized burlap sack he has tied onto his saddle. "An extra firearm for every cabin. Since Peggy is our best sharpshooter, she gets first pick."   
  
Peggy cheers.   
  
Thomas gestures to the larger burlap sacks that are tied over the horse's haunches."I traded off the wool and all of the tobacco, like we planned. For it, we got more soap and string, beef jerky and bread, and spinach." We all groan, and Thomas grimaces. "I don't like spinach either, guys, but do you know how good it is for you? It's like, crazy healthy. I say we got a great deal."   
  
"You should get a bag of figs next time, while you're at it," Washington suggests, obviously mocking him. "Those are healthy, too."   
  
Thomas acknowledges his sarcasm and plays along. "Sir, yes, sir. One fig tree coming right up." He slides down from the horse, but his height and luminescent hair allow him to still be visible by everybody gathered together. "Alright, let's clear this up! Everybody go home, drink water, and don't die of heat stroke. Alexander, do you have your charter? I need you to help me track these supplies down."   
  
Alexander clutches his blue notebook and pencil and groans. "I thought you'd never ask."   
  
While Alexander grudgingly walks over to Thomas, the boys and I head back to the cabin. Michel, Anastasie, and Sarah are following behind us.   
  
"Ugh, I really hate that man," I shudder, glancing over my shoulder at Thomas, who is currently sticking his tongue out at Alexander. Alexander makes to stab him with his pencil and I turn around quickly, not wanting to be a murder witness -- no matter how pleasing it would be.   
  
"He's rude and full of hot air," Hercules remarks knowingly.   
  
"Not to mention boastful and manipulative," Lafayette includes.   
  
"But he's not a bad person," Hercules tries to reason. I shake my head, but he continues, unaware of the distress bubbling up in my gut. "He's a human being. He has feelings and demons of his own, just like us. Besides, John. The same bad qualities we just rattled off could just as easily be used to refer to you and Alexander. Rude, full of hot air, boastful, manipu-"   
  
My blood runs cold. "Don't say it ."   
  
"John..." Lafayette warns calmly.   
  
I shut my eyes, breathing in slowly and deeply through my nose. I sense that cocked and loaded gun in my head quivering for release and it takes everything I have not to let it loose. _I am not my father. I am not my father. I am not my father._ I notice that Lafayette has placed a gentle hand on my back, and Hercules is holding my shoulder in concern.   
  
"You got all shaky again. I haven't seen you like that in a long time," Hercules says softly when I meet his eyes. He's immensely concerned, and looks a little bit guilty, immediately making me feel sorry for getting spazzy with him. "Are you okay?"   
  
"Yeah. I'm sorry." I shake my head and move away from their touch, my skin now crawling with memories of my family. I want to be alone. "If you need me, I'll be in the hayloft."   
  


* * *

  
_July 9, 2072_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Gahh! I've been shot!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _Junior grins as I pretend to clasp my chest in agony and fall jerkily to the ground, trying not to laugh as I see him trying and failing to twirl his Nerf pistol around his finger._ _  
_ _  
_ _"I'm still the best shot in South Carolina," I can hear him say pridefully from where I stare up at the sky._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Sheriff Jack! Noooo!" Five-year-old Jamie exclaims, popping into my frame of vision. His dark curls frame his freckled face, which is contorted with grief, but his large, dark blue eyes shine bright and playful._ _  
_ _  
_ _I clutch at my fake wound, grimacing, and weakly grab Jamie by the front of his shirt, bunching the periwinkle cotton up in my fingers._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Deputy Jamie..." I gasp. "You must stop the evil Junior from robbing the bank and kidnapping the damsel Miss Martha! And... You must... Avenge meeee!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _I take one last dramatic gulp of air and pretend to fall back and die in the dirt. Jamie gasps and hugs my chest._ _  
_ _  
_ _"I'll stop him for you, Sheriff Jack!" Jamie cries into my neck. He looks up at me with a grin and winks, pulling his cowboy hat down farther on his head. "And I'll revenge you good!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _He jumps to his feet and yanks his foam sword out from his belt. "Juniooor! Are you ready to face my revengeance?"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"That's not a word," says Junior as I pull myself to a sitting position, observing my two younger brothers. Junior, seven, has his arms crossed and is looking at Jamie distastefully. "And why do you have a sword? We're cowboys."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Junior," Martha, my twelve-year-old sister, who is sitting at the top of the slide pretending to be a damsel in distress, scolds him. "We're playing pretend. Just go with it."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Oh, whatever." Junior shrugs and puts his evil face back on. "You'll never get me, Deputy Jamie! Bam bam bam bam bam! Hey, I got you!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"No you didn't!" Jamie laughs, chasing him with the sword. "I have a forcefield!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _Martha and I watch our younger brothers chase and play for a few moments. Martha and I are quite close, being only two years apart, like Junior and Jamie. Being fourteen, I'm the oldest surviving child in my family. I had three older siblings, but they died either when I was really little or as infants, and I don't remember them._ _  
_ _  
_ _As for appearances, we're an interesting smorgasbord. Martha has the same dark blue eyes as Jamie. Junior and the 2-year-old baby, Mary --who is inside with a nanny -- have brown eyes. I'm the odd kid out who somehow wound up with golden eyes. Apparently it's a trait from my mother's side. Jamie and I are the only two with freckles, too. That's another gene from my mother. Junior is the most like our father of any of us; strictly right-brained, remarkably good at math, with brown eyes and black, straight hair. He even has the same name, being Henry Laurens, Jr. Martha and I are a lot more like our late mother, artistic and creative. It's hard to tell about Jamie. I think he's got my dad's genes, but he seems like he wants to be like us. I can tell by the way he's always trying to create stories out of everything._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Oh no! Miss Martha! Look out!" Jamie's small voice hollers, and Martha looks behind her to see Junior climbing up the slide ladder with an impish grin._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Oh, deary me! Stop, you fiend!" Martha cries, doing a pretty good impression of a frightened princess._ _  
_ _  
_ _"Never!" Junior shouts. He grabs a stick from his pocket and holds it against Martha's throat, mimicking a knife. "You'd better give me the money or the lady gets it!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"You dastardly bandit!" Jamie yells. He starts to run for Junior, then notices me sitting up, watching him. He quickly jogs over, pushing me back down. "You're dead, remember?"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Oh yeah, I forgot," I smile, giving him a wink. "Now go catch that no-good Junior! He's getting away with the cash!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Aw, shucks!" Jamie sprints over to catch Junior as he goes laughing across the lawn._ _  
_ _  
_ _Martha scoots down the slide and walks over. She offers me a hand and helps pull me to my feet._ _  
_ _  
_ _"You're such a good big brother to them," she smiles happily, her eyes twinkling. She turns in time to see them drop their foam weapons and go frolicking into a patch of tall grass. "They really love you, you know."_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Yeah," I smile, but something stirs inside of me. They love me._ _  
_ _  
_ _Martha and Jamie announce it daily. Junior says it at night sometimes after he's brushed his teeth. Mary has even learned to pronounce the words. And it was the last thing my mother ever said to me._ _  
_ _  
_ _But my father has never told me "I love you.”_


	3. three, trois, tres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I think this is the first time I mention anything about slaves in this story, so I wanna clear that up now before I forget to later.
> 
> Slavery is not based on race in this universe -- as in, Henry Laurens' slaves are prisoners/felons and indentured servitude type arrangements, and the country is divided on whether to continue that practice. When I was thirteen, I didn't think I was being problematic, but now I feel like it kind of might be (although this is a fandom about slave owners so what do I know about being problematic). 
> 
> America is still the Colonies, but it's the 2080s... Britain unleashed biological warfare on America, but it's unclear how that whole colonization thread fits in with the actual history of the globe... You are totally welcome (and in fact encouraged) to make fun of my dumb ass story premise.
> 
> Anyway these chapter notes are me saying I'm VERY sorry about the world-building plot holes. I'm more of a history buff now than I was when I started this and as this story continues I'm going to try to develop more plausibility for this alternate universe's existence! And if I am ever writing something that's problematic, please help me by pointing it out, for I do not want to be putting forth any more harmful narratives into this already shitty world of ours.

" **_NO!_ ** "   


As if the scream itself isn’t enough to jolt me to consciousness, Alexander shoots upright in bed, jerking my whole body with him. I blink in disorientation at the silhouettes of Lafayette and Hercules sound asleep on the other mattress, lit dimly by the weak stream of moonlight fading into the dark room from the window. Alexander is panting heavily beside me, muttering something repeatedly.   
  
"Alex?" I groan, turning around to face him and propping myself up on one elbow. "Alexander, are you okay?"   
  
Alexander is shaking like crazy. He turns his head towards me and reaches out, patting around for something in the sheets, and when he finds my arm he clutches my hand in a grip so tight I hear my thumb pop.   
  
"Ow!" I yelp. I sit up fully. "Alexander, what's the matter?"   
  
"John. Oh my goodness. John." He releases my hand and uses both arms to pull me into a chest-collapsing hug. When I try to wriggle free, he pulls me tighter. I stop fighting his grip when I feel his panting against my ear and his trembling shoulders.   
  
"Alex...?"   
  
"I'm sorry, John. I, I... I had a dream, and I... You were--" he cuts himself off with a big sigh, and he completely relaxes against me, so that I'm the only thing supporting him. His rapid breathing slows and evens out. He shakes his head against my shoulder and sniffs. "We had the plague. And we were sick together, and I got better, for some reason, but... We were holding each other, and you..." He gulps. "It was like my mother all over again, but this time, with you in my arms instead."   
  
"I..."   
  
"John." Alexander leans back and the tears in his eyes glisten like bullets of glass. He looks so terrified, so lost, that it makes something inside me fracture a little. "I can't lose you. I  _ can't _ ."   
  
I close my eyes, take in a deep breath, and press my forehead to his. That humongous, annoying, astounding forehead of his. “You won't."

* * *

_ March 11, 2076 _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I knock on the door of dorm 259. I glance back at my paper to be sure I have the right room number, even though I know I'm correct and I've committed the paper to memory, anyway. My heavy backpack weighs down on my shoulders and my suitcase yanks uncomfortably on my right arm. My heartbeat thrums in my ears and I glance around the hall. I reach my arm up to knock again. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ The door swings open before I reach the wood and I find myself face-to-face with a boy my age. His somewhat greasy black hair is pulled back into a tiny ponytail that jumps around when he moves his head. His wide brown eyes drill into my soul, his lips pressed tight. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Can I help you?" he asks. He sounds a little bit like a cartoon character. I look down at my paper again to distract myself from reacting to that realization. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Um, yeah. I'm John Laurens, and I'm looking for an Alexander Hamilton? I'm supposed to be sharing a dorm with him." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I'm Alexander," says the boy with an insolent  _ _ smirk, and I can't decide whether it’s endearing or off-putting. I can already feel myself getting attached to this man and his quirky vibe -- he’s got that stature, that presence, and oh God he’s probably a Capricorn -- but I quickly slip myself back into the shoes of a straight, unassuming frat boy. I will  _ not _ fall in love with a roommate again. "Well, John Laurens, care to come in?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Don't mind if I do." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Alexander holds the door open for me and I toddle in with my cargo. "You can toss your stuff anywhere," Alexander says, gesturing about the room. "I'm not a messy person, but I'm not exactly organized either. I don't care as long as it doesn't get in the way of anything." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I put my stuff down on the couch and sigh in relief, rolling my shoulders about. I smile at Alexander and hold out my hand. He takes it with a grin and shakes my hand firmly. "So you're the John Laurens I've heard so much about." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "You've heard about me?" I jump in my seat, my mind shooting to the plethora of news articles he could have read about my father, his business, the way we were raised, the scandal- _

_ "No, I'm kidding,” Alexander laughs, and it sounds even more cartoonish than his regular voice. He side-eyes me deviously, sizing me up like some hyperactive, extroverted version of Sherlock Holmes. “I only know the things about you that it said in your email. You're 17, you're from South Carolina, you like art, and you're an ardent abolitionist." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Yeah," I say, feeling myself grow red, although I'm not sure why. I know I shouldn't be embarrassed by my beliefs, but this guy is intimidating. "I hope you won't mind my frequent anti-slavery rants." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Dude, are you kidding? I'm one of the most passionate abolitionists I know." I breathe out a sigh of relief, and Alexander nods his head towards me. "Present company excluded. Something tells me you may even be more nuts about it than myself. You've got a blazing fire in your eyes that says you'd die for that kind of thing." _ _   
_ _   
_ I got kicked out of my family for that kind of thing, _ I mentally sneer, but I don't dare vocalize that. That would lead to questions, and questions would lead to me talking about my father. And I don't want to tell Alexander about my father. Not yet. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "So, tell me about yourself," I say, changing the subject, and plop down on the couch next to my bags. The cushions are so shoddy I feel the couch frame smack my thighs and a spring shoot up my ass on impact. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Well, I'm from the West Indies, originally," Alexander says, sinking slowly into a chair across from me and raising a knowing eyebrow at the wincing expression on my face. "My father left when I was ten and two years later my mother died, and so I moved to the Colonies to start a new life. I'm seventeen too. I got a scholarship to go here, because otherwise I couldn't afford this school at all. I'm into writing and politics mostly. And don’t tell anyone, but I'm a huge soccer fan. I try to keep it on the down-low because I make fun of jocks kind of often.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I lean back, not-so-subtly shifting to a more comfortable position. "I also got a scholarship. And I'm into soccer too! Do you play?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Alexander scoffs. "I have no eye-foot coordination." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Sorry to hear that; I'm kind of a pro," I joke. “They called me a natural goalie.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "You good with balls in your face?" Alexander says. I feel myself growing pink, and a sideways grin spreads across his features. He knew what he was doing. "So. Are you going to go out for the soccer team?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I don't know," I admit. "Depends on whether it interferes with clubs." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "What clubs were you considering?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Art, mainly. Also science. We had a sick science program back in South Carolina, where I'm from. But my dad made me quit. He sent me here to study law." I glance up at Alexander sheepishly. "I really didn't want to, so I'm just taking a mock trial elective so I won't be completely lying to my father. I really wanted to be a doctor as a little kid, but I guess you have to choose your battles, y'know?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Alexander is staring at me strangely. "Not completely." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Oh." This is spiraling down the awkward slide rapidly. "I guess not everyone has manipulative parents. I just kind of assumed, because that's all I've known." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Don't feel bad. Not everyone has absentee parents, either. That's just what I assumed, because that's all I've known," Alexander says, quickly trying to relieve the awkwardness. "I guess we're both on opposite ends of the spectrum." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "At the same time, we're pretty similar," I remark. "My mom passed away around the same time as yours." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Well, I'll be," Alexander says, his expression softening. "I'm sorry for your loss." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "If you don't mind me asking," I say cautiously, "how did she...?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Some kind of fever. We both had it. We were sick in bed together. I got better, but... She went quick." Alexander says. "What about you?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Cancer's a bitch," I say. “She'd been receiving treatment for two years, but... Nothing was happening. It eventually caught up to her." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I'm sorry." Alexander pauses, his eyes distant. There's something dark and lonely hiding in those rich brown irises. "Man, we couldn't even afford flu medicine.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I don't know what to say. Having two years of knowing my mother was fading was one thing, but a couple weeks because of a flu? Without being able to afford any treatment? _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Alexander glances back at me. "Something tells me you wouldn't have even needed the scholarship you got. At least, not financially." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I bury my face in my hands. The truth might as well come out. "My father is Henry Laurens, a slave owner. I grew up on a plantation. I didn't want to tell you, but-" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Dude, it wasn't hard to tell," Alexander says with a chuckle, and I peek through my fingers at him. He looks a little embarrassed. "First of all, you have the same last name as one of the most powerful slave-owners on the continent. Second of all, usually only southerners can afford things like cancer treatment and 'sick science programs' nowadays anyway." Alexander smiles. "But why should you worry about it?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I drop my hands. "What do you mean?" _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "I mean, you're already like my best friend," Alexander laughs. "I've never met anyone who's so outspoken and passionate like me. I'm so glad I got you as my roommate and not that stupid Aaron Burr." He shudders. "I hate that sonofabitch. Thinks he can tell me I’m annoying.  _ Me _ , 'annoying'! When  _ he’s _ the one who leaves me on read, whines about every little thing that goes wrong in his life, and has chronic devil’s advocate disease." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Alexander freezes when he notices me staring. _

_ “Your freckles stand out when you blush," he observes. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I blink and my fingers subconsciously ghost over the bridge of my nose. I didn’t even realize I was blushing. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Did you know the main reason my dad sent me off to college was because I told him I was gay?" I blurt. _

_ Alexander shifts in his seat, furrows his brow, and glances away awkwardly. “Bye,” he says, incredibly bluntly. _

Shit.  _ That’s it. I’m packing my bags and dropping out of college. Forget the military. Forget playing goalie. Forget being a doctor. Forget Alexander Hamilton. I already have a degree in Ruining Everything, so I have no need for school. I’ll change my name. I’ll move to Switzerland. I’ll- _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Bisexual.” _

_ “I beg your pardon?” _

_ Alexander raises an eyebrow at my stone-cold confusion. “Bi. I am bisexual. I mean, I didn’t get kicked out for it. But, you came out to me, so I’m coming out to you. I’m bi. Is that cool?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I release a tense breath and lean forward, grinning stupidly like the idiot I am. “Yes. That is very cool.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "And, uh..." Alexander looks up to the ceiling and makes a face. "Not to be rude or anything, John, but, uh... I kinda hate your dad." _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I laugh. "That makes two of us." _   
  


* * *

  
It's been three days since Thomas returned. The temperature has retreated to a slightly less-threatening 93. Lafayette is working at the Washington's today, probably helping pick tomatoes and talking to Martha about how strange men are or something like that. Alexander, Hercules, and I were supposed to go hunting with the Schuylers today, but both Alex and Eliza chickened out to spend some alone time at the Schuyler residence. I was slightly jealous at first, but I figured that since Eliza's a much better person than Alex and I put together, she should get a little flirting time every once in a while. Besides, I like hanging out with Peggy. We're a lot alike. Or, at least, I like to think I’m a lot like her.   
  
Angelica's okay. I just sometimes feel like she wouldn't hesitate to eat me if she were given the chance. And not for food, either. Just because she's the type of person who would eat you.   
  
Hercules and I are crouching in the bushes behind Peggy, who is kneeling next to a tree. She has a rifle lined up to her eye and is aiming at some animal deep in the woods that I can't see. I think Angelica is up in a tree with a bow and arrow, but to be honest, I'm not totally sure.   
  
Hercules and I are trying our best to remain silent, but he's a big guy and cracks sticks with every movement and I'm convinced I'm the loudest breather in the universe. If Peggy is annoyed, however, she's doing a good job of hiding it, her expression cool and focused, her muscles taught and ready to spring.   
  
Suddenly, there's a rustle in the leaves far away and Peggy fires. The loud shot makes Hercules reel back in surprise and I find myself rooted to my spot in shock, ears ringing. By the time I get my bearings, Peggy has run off, chasing her bullet. I reach out a hand to help Hercules up and we follow after her.   
  
When we reach her, she's bent over with her hands on her knees, examining her kill. She's shot a large buck, with 12-inch antlers and muscular legs. The bullet shot right through the eye, killing the animal immediately.   
  
Hercules whistles and I swear under my breath.   
  
"You're really good at this," I mutter. "How do you expect us to shoot anything?"   
  
"I don't," Peggy smirks, walking in a circle around the fallen buck, sizing up the block of meat she just acquired.   
  
"That thing must weigh, like, 200 pounds," says Hercules.   
  
"So will you have us shooting deer too, or are you going to start us on squirrels?" I ask with my hands on my hips.   
  
"I was thinking rabbits," Peggy says, grinning up at me.   
  
Then, within a split second, an arrow comes whizzing out of nowhere and comes to a quivering halt in the grass between Hercules' legs. He gives out a shrill yelp that sounds a little more like a second-grade white girl than a 23-year-old black man. I whip around with my mouth hanging open in confusion and see Angelica striding towards us with a snide smirk on her face, wielding her bow in front of her like a chainsaw.   
  
"If you start them on rabbits, they'll most definitely never hit anything," Angelica remarks. "Rabbits are too small and fast for these boys."   
  
"Jesus, Angelica, don't scare me like that," Hercules hisses angrily, ripping the arrow out of the ground and tossing it back at the eldest Schuyler sister.   
  
Angelica snatches the weapon out of the air easily and rolls her eyes at him. "I like making you guys jump."   
  
Peggy sighs and walks over to Angelica, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "Angie, don't mock 'em too much, you'll hurt their feelings!"   
  
"Men don't have feelings, Pegs. I figured you'd have learned that by now." Angelica looks us up and down, her lips pressed tight in what I'm pretty certain is utter disappointment, and then shrugs indifferently. "Whatever, sis. Have 'em shooting at whatever animal you like. Just beware that our bullets aren't in an infinite supply, and we don't want to waste them on terrible shots."   
  
"I'm not a terrible shot," I mutter in annoyance, shooting Angelica a glare. She cocks an eyebrow at me, and I stare her back down. "I'm a  _ mediocre _ shot."   
  
Peggy laughs and heaves the rifle into my arms. "I guess mediocre will have to do."   
  
An hour later, the four of us emerge from the forest triumphant. Well, triumphant in the sense that we are immensely proud of ourselves for not accidentally shooting each other. Hercules and I didn't have much luck in catching any food; I shot down a single pheasant and the only thing Hercules managed to hit was salad. Thankfully, Angelica and Peggy easily managed to succeed our quota for the day.   
  
We drag the carcasses across the village to the Schuyler cabin, where Hercules and I leave the dead animals to Angelica and Peggy, thanking them for the hunting lesson, and head inside the house. Immediately we come upon Eliza and Alexander sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor, so deeply engaged in their conversation that they don't even notice us enter the room.   
  
Hercules clears his throat and their heads snap up to look at us, completely taken off-guard. Eliza is blushing madly and Alexander starts stammering awkwardly. Hercules cuts him off.   
  
"Thanks for your help today," he says sarcastically. Alexander glares and scrambles to his feet.   
  
"Eh, shut up. It's not like you would've shot any better with me there to heckle you." He holds out a hand and Eliza takes it graciously, rising to her feet with ease. Her braids swing around her shoulders and her eyes sparkle kindly as she smiles at us.   
  
"I don't like killing animals. I just cook them," Eliza offers as her excuse. My gaze travels down her pale arm and locks on her and Alexander's entwined fingers.   
  
"Alex?" The word comes out colder than I intended, but Alexander's expression changes quickly and I can tell he knows what's wrong, even when I don't.

“Let’s go for a walk, John,” he suggests brightly, then nods to Eliza and Hercules, excusing ourselves from their presence.   
  
I hook Alexander by the arm and gently guide him out the door. I shove my hands deep into my jeans pockets and we start to mosey slowly through the village. I'm staring at the dirt path, watching the dust kick up around my boots.   
  
"Is this about me and Eliza?" He asks. I don't look at him, but I can hear the guilt in his voice. I don't answer him right away, relishing any opportunity to healthily prolong Alexander’s angst, and instead take in a deep sigh and raise my head to look up at the clouds. It feels like the heat is eating away at my skin, peeling off layers one by one like an onion.   
  
"I guess so," I say finally. The words are quiet and exposing. "You know, I  _ love _ you."   
  
"You don't ‘guess so’. You  _ know _ so. And so do I." Alexander huffs out a sharp breath. "I'm sorry, John. I really am. I don't mean to be... oblivious, two-faced, conniving -- I can tell that's how you're feeling about me right now -- but..." I look up, and he's shaking his head. "Look, John, Eliza really likes me."   
  
"You also really liked me," I remark. Alexander's eyes widen, hurt, but I keep talking before he can interject. "Just because the world is ending doesn't mean you can go around snapping the heartstrings of every pretty boy and girl you see. And imagine how poor Eliza would feel. You can't have both of us! It would break her heart. It would break mine! I don't want to-"   
  
" _ John!" _ _   
_   
I stop talking. I wish things would go back to the way they were before the shit hit the fan, back when we were two college idiots without a responsibility in the world, before we were even “us”, when this was just a “thing”, when the virus was a myth, when I was obsessed with turtles, when my only real problem was my homophobic father. But now I live in a village with a bunch of sheep and am constantly anxious my crush is hornier than he is afraid of the plague.   
  
"John.” Alexander’s regularly high-energy, caricatured voice is lowered to something abnormally serious. He almost sounds his age, for once. “Eliza is a young, foolish, heterosexual woman, and she is in love with me. I, on the other hand, am a little less young, even more foolish, and far from heterosexual, and I am in love with  _ you. _ ”   
  
"I'm overreacting," I say quickly. I laugh a little, thinking about what I was freaking out about. Of course Eliza is just a teenager in love. Of course Alexander is just a flirt. I’ve known this since the beginning of time. But still… his eyes are staring at me, and it reminds me of something else. "A few nights ago, you told me that you couldn't lose me. Well... I'm afraid that I'm going to... lose myself."   
  
" _ Lose yourself?  _ What does that mean?"   
  
"I just blew up on you now. I freaked out at Herc the other day. Alex..." I see my fear reflected in his eyes. "Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s the manure, I don’t know. Hell, maybe I already have the plague. But I don't want to go crazy. I need you to be with me. You're the only thing that really keeps me sane."   
  
Alexander is silent for a moment, then closes his eyes. "I could say the same about you." He looks back at me. "I'm sorry. I need you too. I'll try harder to make it obvious."   
  
I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes and let out a shaky laugh, feeling myself relax. A wave of giddiness washes over me now that I see how paranoid I have become. "Alexander Hamilton, I don't think you'll have to try very hard to make anything obvious."   
  
Alexander grins broadly and claps a hand on my back. "See? You're not crazy."   
  
I smile a little. "Guess not."   
  
But my smile falters.  _ Not right now, anyway. _ _   
_   


* * *

  
It's later that afternoon when the boys and I are re-stocking and organizing the kitchen cupboard when a frantic knocking begins hammering on the door. Lafayette gets there first, peers out of the peephole, then sets his can of spam down on the table and all but rips open the locks.   
  
"Jefferson!" he exclaims when the door opens. Alexander jumps at the name, and Hercules and I take a step back. "What in the world is the matter?"   
  
The three of us step forward to see Thomas, his face pale and eyes wide, gasping and struggling to speak, jaw opening and closing so sharply his teeth make little clicking noises. Finally, he furrows his brow and glances between us quickly.   
  
"It's Samuel," he gulps. He pauses for a moment, almost in disbelief, but his expression betrays his terror. "He has the plague."


End file.
